


This Story’s Old But Not Complete

by gravityinglass



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ashton has daddy issues, Comedy of Errors, M/M, Michael is an idiot, soulmate dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravityinglass/pseuds/gravityinglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael’s soulmate is Ashton; his Dreams tell him so. The only problem? Ashton can’t see Michael when they Dream together, and Michael’s never bucked up the courage to tell him so. After accidentally spilling his secret to Luke, Michael bolts for Los Angeles to hide from Ashton. That plan goes about as well as any of Michael’s half-assed plans, which is to say it doesn’t, at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Story’s Old But Not Complete

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfhuman2214](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhuman2214/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Dream Until Your Dreams Come True](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2720162) by [crossingwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter). 



> title from Valencia’s Better Be Prepared, which I listened to on repeat while writing this, because I am a nerd.
> 
> For the 5sos Seasonal Fic Exchange! I was prompted as follows: “Michael thinks he's screwed up and ruined any chance of progressing his budding relationship with Ashton. He rents himself his own apartment in LA and isolates himself away from the entire band for the duration of their break to wallow in self pity/hatred and misery.” Me being me, I of course immediately threw soulmates into the mix and added some pining angst and denial, and we wound up with this. I think I’ve cleared the 10k requirement, so there’s that.
> 
> This was inspired by the wonderful Gendry/Arya fic Dream Until Your Dreams Come True by crossingwinter in that one half of the soulmate pair can't see the other half when they Dream of each other.The author also had a line of dialogue about people being unable to see their soulmate clearly when they were going through a gender transition and figuring out their identities, which I also nodded to. Any other similarities are unintentional.  
> For halfhuman2214! I certainly hope this meets your hopes for Mashton!
> 
> Other misc notes: if you found this by googling yourself or someone you know personally, i’d click back now, for your sake and mine. I make no profit from this and write only for fun. Jess Bowen really is a lesbian, though I did not name her significant other or soulmate, despite having people in mind for both; in a hypothetical fanfic about gay soulmates, I was unwilling to rewrite this part of her IRL identity. I cast no aspersions on the sexualities of anyone else in this fic, and make no factual statements about their IRL sexualities, romantic, or gender orientations.
> 
> Dreams and dreams are differentiated in this fic: lowercase d dreams are the kind you and I have, while uppercase D Dreams are the universe-specific soulmate Dreams upon which this fic hinges.

_So here’s a couple of words for you_  
To let you know what I’ve been through  
I’ve got this off-track set mind where everything is fine  
If I know I’ve got a ticket to the other side.

_\--_

To be perfectly honest, Michael hadn’t planned on running the fuck away. But once he’d made his spur of the moment plans for their month-long band break, there was no fucking way he was backing down.

Not when Michael had dug himself a hole deeper than the Marianas Trench if he stuck around.

So running the fuck away it was.

It had been one of the conversations Luke refused to let go of that had started everything. He was always bitching about how he hadn’t yet met his soulmate, despite literal years of Dreaming with her. It was an argument Michael had heard countless times before, and it was an argument Michael just did not want to hear anymore.

“Yeah, well,” Michael said, tired and stressed and completely out of fucks to give, interrupting Luke mid-sentence. “At least your soulmate can see your face when you Dream.”

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Luke’s jaw dropped, looking completely shocked.

“You mean Ashton, right?” Luke said slowly. His eyes were round and bulging a little. “How he can’t see his soulmate’s face?”

“Yeah, fuck, whatever, that was what I meant,” Michael said, and put his head down. “Fuck, Luke.”

“...okay,” Luke said, and dropped the entire conversation about soulmates.

Here was the thing: everyone knew Ashton couldn’t see his soulmate’s face in their shared Dreams. Well, maybe not everyone, but at least the whole band.

Here was the other thing: Michael was Ashton’s soulmate, and it was his face that Ashton couldn’t see. Not that he’d ever admitted it out loud.

When Ashton had first walked into their band audition five years ago, Michael had only just started his Dreams. Maybe it was Ashton, maybe it wasn’t: Michael wasn’t sure yet, and he had no idea how to ask if it was him Ashton Dreamed of. At their first full-band sleepover, they’d gotten drunk and Ashton had admitted that his soulmate’s face was nothing but a blur, and Michael’s heart had fallen into his toes.

So he was stuck brain-stuff dreaming and soulmate Dreaming of Ashton, since his subconcious was just that stuck on Ashton.

So he’d never told Ashton that they were soulmates, let everyone else believe he and his soulmate had perfect shared dreams, and pretended that he wasn’t living within two fucking meters of his soulmate every goddamn day, when that soulmate didn’t know it was him.

Ashton didn’t seem all that concerned that he couldn’t see his soulmate’s face, so Michael tried not to let it bother him either. It just fucking _sucked_ sometimes. Michael had never told anyone that it was Ashton he saw when he Dreamed, so when he saw Luke beginning to put the pieces together, he bolted.

In the greenroom, he texted Feldy to see if he could crash out in Feldy’s poolhouse for a month, followed by cancelling his ticket back to Australia the next week for their month long break. He’d even managed to forward both emails to their management team before Luke caught up to him, only freaking out a little.

“You’re Ashton’s soulmate,” he said breathlessly.

Michael slammed his hand over Luke’s mouth. “Shh. He’ll _hear_.”

Luke mumbled something. Michael glared at him. When Luke spoke again, he removed his hand.

“Of course he’ll hear you,” Luke hissed. “He’s literally your soulmate, don’t you want him to hear?”

“He can’t see me, so what if he’s my soulmate but I’m not his?”

Luke’s expression dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“That’s not it, that can’t be it.”

“You explain it to me, then, because I’ve been trying to figure it out for like four years now.’

“Oh. Okay. I’ll leave it alone.”

Except Luke absolutely did not leave it alone. Not even a little bit.

Ashton sat next to Michael on one of their inumerable van rides. Luke was harassing Calum, flicking him on the ear and then stealing bits of his chocolate bar when Calum was whining.

“Hey, has Luke been harassing you about soulmates too?”

“Mm?”

“He’s got it in his head that emailing me links to articles about dream psychology will make me see my soulmate. He on you about trying to meet up with yours?”

Michael forced himself to remain calm, and not tense up. “Yeah. I think he’s just antsy about having not met his soulmate yet. I yelled at him a little bit and he let up, so. I dunno. Yell at him?”

“God, he’s the baby of the band. I couldn’t do that.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “And that’s how he gets away with shit! Like, the watermelon thing--”

“Oh, god, don’t remind me--”

“And the time he filled Cal’s bed with shaving cream--”

“Okay, you’ve made your point--”

“And now, look at that, with the fuckin’, the chocolate bar--”

Ashton put his hand over Michael’s mouth. Michael, already knowing it wouldn’t work, licked Ashton’s palm. He just got an unimpressed look in return.

“So, we’re gonna go crash out at our parents’ for like a week, then we’re gonna do the rafting thing in Tasmania for a week,” Ashton said, pulling out his phone with one hand. “Cal found this great travel company, so they’re setting everything up for us and we’ll get to go rafting and hiking and everything.”

Michael tried not to think of how much fun Ashton was going to have with Calum on their little besties getaway, especially considering that Michael hadn't been invited.

“Sounds good,” he said when Ashton dropped his hand from Michael's mouth to show him pictures. He discreetly confirmed his plans with Feldy the next chance he got.

In a perfect world, that would have been the end of it. Except Luke’s big mouth had apparently gone supernova, because Calum was chasing Michael around their shared hotel room shrieking about betrayal.

Calum only stopped yelling when someone from the hotel’s front desk knocked on their door to scold them for disturbing other guests. Then he just pinned Michael to the bed. And thanks to the fact that Calum actually _liked_ working out, Michael resigned himself to the thought of not escaping.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” he whined. “We’re blood brothers, we’re supposed to share all our secrets.”

“Cutting our palms with Mali’s pocket knife probably just gave us hepatitis,” Michael pointed out and got bit for his trouble. “You _fucker_.”

“You told Luke first. I can never forgive this,” Calum sulked.

“I didn’t mean to. And get off of me, fatass, I can’t feel my left arm.”

“You deserve it for calling me a fatass,” Calum grumbled, but he did stop actively crushing Michael.

They ended up watching one of the ridiculous kids’ dragon movies Michael loved so much, which was how Michael knew he was forgiven. Still, they fell asleep not even halfway through it, a testament to how ready the band was for their little band vacation.

Michael's Dream with Ashton that night reflected that exhausted attitude, though from him or from Ashton he wasn't actually sure. They were in a backyard, one of a million cookie cutter lawns in an endless suburb, chatting and cuddling in a hammock.

Michael wondered which one of them wanted this quiet idyll. He kind of did, a little, but he was also pop punk as shit. They were all about getting out of suburbia, and this made staying seem nice.

It maybe he just wanted a nap in a hammock with a cute boy and he should stop psychoanalyzing everything so much. Fuck you, Freud.

Their last few US shows were weird, with Luke suddenly trying to play matchmaker and Michael slowly itching out of his skin. Even with Calum and Luke being obnoxious busybodies, Michael tried not to let things get too weird with Ashton.

The universe had to have a reason for making them soulmates, and at least 30% of that reason had to just be their compatibility.

Calum was good memories, a brother in everything but blood. He was Michael's oldest and warmest friend, his homesickness cure and his best memories. For the longest time, Michael had thought Calum would be his soulmate. In a way, maybe he was: the kindest sort of platonic love, the steadiest presence in Michael's life.

Luke was competition, a twin for Michael's energy and creative drive. They pushed each other the way the other boys didn't, challenging each other's songs and goals. Luke was a kindred soul, not a soulmate in any way Michael could ever claim, but someone so similar that they operated in the same wavelength.

Ashton, though, Michael had no idea how to define. He was comfort, the person Michael was willing to go the furthest for. If Ashton asked Michael to jump off of a bridge, Michael would only ask how they planned to land. They were companions who understood each other so, so easily. If Michael had thought his ease with Calum meant they were soulmates, his ease with Ashton was a hundred thousand times stronger.

Ashton was also really fucking beautiful, though Michael generally tried not to dwell on it.

Ashton let Michael lean on his shoulder.

"You okay?" He asked, leaning his cheek on top of Michael's head.

"Yeah, just a little tired of Luke at the moment."

"You love him, just don't like him much right now?" Ashton asked, a hint of humor in his voice. It was a feeling the whole band was wildly familiar with. "Is he on another soulmate for everyone kick right now?"

"Sounds like it," Michael grumbled. "You know what he means by it, though."

"Doesn't mean you're not annoyed by him at the moment."

Michael sighed. "Can I just sit here with you for a bit?"

"Always." Ashton hummed a little bit. "Hey, I was actually working on a riff for the lighthouse song you were writing last week. Want quiet, or do you want to talk about that?"

"We can talk," Michael said. "Just as long as Luke doesn't try to make me get a SoulSearch account again."

Ashton snorted. "He's already got an account open for each of us."

"I'm gonna murder him."

"Only if you're willing to take over his vocals," Ashton said reasonably.

Michael grumbled.

\---

"What do you think the world would be like without dreams?" Michael asked. He was half sitting on Ashton and half on Calum. The sofa was really only made for three people nearing two meters tall, but when Luke had been hauled off for individual photos at this photoshoot, Michael hadn't bothered with moving into the space Luke had left. Personal space failed to exist between them anymore anyways.

Listening to Calum try to guess what Luke's wriggling eyebrows were for had been way more entertaining anyways.

"Lonelier, I guess," Ashton said. Michael could practically feel Ashton's furrowed eyebrows. "You mean, like, soulmates totally don't exist? No such thing?"

"No, just like--they were out there, but your dreams didn't tell you who they were."

"Like you get a tattoo or something? I read a book like that for year eight English," Calum said. "Except then everyone had to have really unique names, because there are like a million Michael's in the world and your Michael could be one of them."

Michael shot Calum a stinkeye, but Ashton hadn’t noticed.

"I guess. I meant like, you had a soulmate, but you didn't know anything about them. You had to guess if you found them."

Ashton frowned, his forehead wrinkling even further. "What horror movies have you been watching? That sounds awful."

"But, like, free choice."

"Free choice for what? Luke asked. He tumbled onto the couch, knocking into Calum. "Mikey, they want you next."

"Don't call him Mikey," Ashton chastised. "He doesn't like it."

"He likes it fine from you."

Michael leaned over and tried to bite Luke. It didn't work; Calum jerked as Luke tickled him suddenly and Michael ended up on the floor.

When the day finally came for the band to start their break, Michael was half sure he'd chicken out and fly back to Australia. He probably would have, if Zoe hadn't already cancelled his ticket.

He slept fitfully first flight, headphones in and leaning against Calum. When they landed… Well. Michael didn’t tell any of the boys he was going. He just took his carryon, found Benji the security guard, and went.

The other three members of his band were being hurried to a lounge; they’d figure he got waylaid with a bathroom break until he was out of security, and by then he would honestly be beyond their ability to catch him. With any luck, the boys wouldn’t realize he wasn’t there until they were on the plane.

“M’sorry you’re stuck in LA with me,” Michael told Benji as they cleared security. The airport had been notified of his passing through, so his bag had already been separated and collected, and they had extra guards to usher him to the waiting car. A few people recognized him, but there was no mob scene, probably because this was an unplanned and unannounced detour.

It was an entirely different experience than when the whole band was stopping through for a show or a songwriting session.

“I volunteered,” Benji said dryly, wheeling his own bag alongside Michael’s. “My brother lives about an hour from where you’ll be staying. I’ll get to spend some time with my nieces and nephews.”

Michael’s phone buzzed. He’d turned off read receipts earlier; when he read the message, the guys wouldn’t necessarily know he’d seen them.

“We’re that car there?” he asked Benji, before being stopped for a few selfies and autographs.

“Red SUV,” Benji told Michael when Michael finished with the selfies. He’d already put his bag in the back, and now took Michael’s from him. “This is my sister-in-law, Rhea.”

“Good to meet you,” Michael said politely.

Rhea was a short, plump woman with wildly curly brown hair and dark brown skin. “My son is a huge fan,” she told him. “But I’ve told him if he bothers you or Benji, he’ll be mowing the lawn all summer, and driving his sisters to soccer every afternoon besides.”

Michael was taken aback. “Thanks.” His phone buzzed again in his pocket.

“Once we get you to the house, I’ll take Benji to pick up your rental car,” she continued. “Come on, get in, you’ll get a sunburn.”

Safely settled into the backseat, Michael listened to Benji and his sister-in-law chat, and checked his messages. They were almost exactly what he expected.

 **From: Luke**  
What the fuck mike

 **From: Luke  
** Aren’t you sitting with me

 **From: Calum**  
Some suit just sat in ur seat

 **From: Calum  
** Was there a flight mix up?

 **From: Calum  
** Dude where are you

 **From: Ash  
** I can’t believe you

 **From: Luke**  
Did you just abandon me to sit with a fucking suit michael i’m going to murder you

 **From: Calum**  
Oh my god the suits daughter is a fan

 **From: Luke  
** I fucking hate you I hate everything

 **From:Ash  
** Michael I am going to kiss you next time i see u this is the best thing I've ever seen

 **From: Luke  
** This just in Ashton into necrophilia

 **From: Luke  
** Because MICHAELS GONNA BE A CORPAE

The group chat continued, mostly along the lines of how annoyed they were. Michael closed the chat, and after a second thought, reopened it and turned off the notifications.

The new, sudden silence of a chat that never really ceased was horribly relieving.

LA was congested with traffic, as it always was. Across the city, Bryana Holly was probably working, as was Feldy. Michael vaguely wondered if the Summer Set guys were in town. Brian, or Jess, or the Gomez brothers. It had been fun to hang out with other musicians, veterans of the genre, and not be expected to produce something at the end of it.

He thought about messaging them, but Brian would definitely text at least one of the Alexes, and they would text Calum and it would all circle back to Ashton. Michael didn't have the mental energy for that.

Instead, he leaned against the window and watched traffic pass by. They got to the house much later than expected, due to a nightmarish accident that they got caught behind. It was nearly midnight when they pulled into the house’s drive. Feldy’s pool house was a little cottage behind the house, an American granny flat. Feldy’s wife greeted them, a pair of keys in hand.

He was so exhausted he barely made it through the brief tour and greeting the Feldmann kids. Mrs Feldmann (and god, Michael really needed to remember her name, if he was going to be staying in her back cottage) just gave him a knowing smile and a big hug. He excused himself as soon as was polite, yawning all the way. He thought she understood, since she didn’t push him to come eat with the family. Sometimes he forgot Feldy had been in a band, so Mrs Feldmann would know what the stresses of tour looked like.

Inside the little pool house, he chose one of the two neatly made bedrooms and barely managed to deposit his bag by the closet before tottering towards the bed.

Michael sank into the softness of the bed, worn in like hotel beds never were. He was asleep faster than he’d ever thought possible. He didn’t Dream, not of Ashton, and not of the whirling colors he got when his brain invented his dreams.

When Michael woke up, he was disoriented with a good sleep in the way he hadn’t been in god knew how long.

He fumbled for his phone, wondering if he still had charge.

He didn’t.

“Alright then,” he said to the empty room.

From the angle of the sunlight filtering in, Michael guessed it was somewhere around midday. So conservatively, he’d slept at least eleven hours.

He stood, then realized he’d only managed to shuck his jeans and socks before falling asleep. Now, Michael stripped his shirt over his head and grabbed clean underwear from his suitcase.

The shower was fantastic. Afterwards, he toppled back into bed, still not having checked his phone or the time, and slept again.

This time he Dreamed.

He knew he was the first to fall asleep, because Ashton always Dreamed the same stadium recently, the same stage. They always ended up riffing off of each other in Ashton’s Dreams.

How Ashton still hadn’t figured out that Michael was his soulmate, Michael didn’t know.

No, this Dream was a hedge maze, which meant Michael had Dreamed this in order to avoid talking to Ashton.

Michael wandered through the maze. Distantly, he heard Ashton walking with quiet, steady footsteps.

Within the maze, Michael found various items. It was stuff he usually encountered in these Dreams. He found a pair of Ashton’s drumsticks, and then a whole wall of them, growing out of the hedge maze. He found converse sneakers, and combat boots without laces, and glass beer bottles in shades of brown and green.

In the center of the maze, there was a mountain of guitar picks, all patterned with footprints and fingerprints.

Michael climbed atop the mountain, little picks sliding in little showers. What with Dream time, he couldn’t tell how long it took him. There was a roll of caution tape next to him when he sat down. He tossed it hand to hand a few times, then let it roll down the hill, holding onto the loose end of it. It vanished into the maze, with far more momentum than it should have had with Michael just rolling it down the hill.

It started raining as the caution tape rolled, misting the maze in blue and silver. Michael titled his face up to appreciate the warm rain, and the fact that he wasn’t even getting damp.

The construction tape tugged. Michael lazily tugged back, and started to wind it, finger to elbow and back.

Eventually, Ashton came out of the maze, following the tape. It had stretched and warped in places, where Michael had pulled too hard or where Ashton had moved too slowly.

Upon seeing him, Ashton’s face lit up. He climbed the mountain of guitar picks to sit next to Michael.

“What’s up with the maze?” he asked, leaning back on his elbows. The caution tape dissolved in Michael’s hands.

“Thinking about us.”

“Well, that’s negative.”

“You still can’t see me, can you?”

“I still can’t see your face,” Ashton admitted. “You’re fuzzy.”

Michael tipped his head back into the rain. “And the rest of me?”

“Indistinct.”

“You realize I can see you perfectly.”

“Yeah.”

“You realize that’s normal?”

Ashton’s face twisted in a wry smile. “Yeah. My brain’s fucked, I guess. Have we had this conversation?”

“I think we have. Haven’t we?” Michael sighed. “You know--why haven’t you ever asked for my name?”

“Never occurred to me, I guess. I’m--” Michael knew Ashton was saying Ashton, of course he was, but it was like his brain filtered that out.

“I’m Michael,” he said.

Ashton’s expression made Michael think the same thing had happened to him.

“Your name sounds like you look, I guess,” Ashton joked. “I guess that would make this soulmate thing too easy.”

“It’s easy enough for me,” Michael murmured.

Ashton only had time to look at Michael strangely before Michael could feel himself dissolving, and then he was surging awake, gasping for breath.

It was barely light outside. Michael got up and recovered his phone charger from his suitcase. It took a minute for his phone to surge life after he plugged it in.

4:37 am, and 769 unread messages.

He sighed and dropped the phone back onto the nightstand. He'd deal with that…later.

He found clean sweatpants and a mostly clean T-shirt vest in his bag, miracle of miracles. Maybe he'd attempt laundry while he was here.

He'd seen Ashton do it before, when they were at a stadium with industrial washing machines. They’d pile the entire band's clothes into two massive piles of colors and whites, so they could run giant loads of laundry until their bus didn't stink of filthy clothes. It was a habit Liz had pounded into them the first time they'd toured, especially when she found out that Calum and Michael were turning their underwear inside out to get an extra wear out of them.

If none of them had time, sometimes they'd run clothes through the hotel laundry, or Zoe would convince someone to find a laundromat. Even though those clothes always came back neatly folded, Michael always preferred the rumpled heap Ashton would dump on his bed, and the quiet exhaustion of folding everything so it fit into his bag.

This house had a washer and one of the omnipresent American dryers, even when LA had plenty of sunshine and tons of backyard space for clotheslines. The house even had soap set out on top the machine. Why Feldy had a washer in the little cottage out back, Michael had no idea, but he was grateful for it.

Except then he couldn't figure out how much soap to put in, and it was a liquid instead of the powder Michael's mum used, and then there were bottles of things Michael couldn't figure out and the machine had literal dozens of wash options and then Michael was crying over a washing machine, of all things.

That was how Benji found him, leaning against the washing machine and bawling.

“Jesus, it is too fucking early for meltdowns,” Benji said. “Should I worry?”

Somehow, the whole story came tumbling out of Michael's mouth, first in dribs and drabs and then in a rush.

“That's a story, kid,” Benji said when Michael was done. “Not totally uncommon, but a story.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Jesus, kid, pick up a magazine, watch a movie. This happens. Your difference is you didn't blurt it out first time you met him.” Benji patted Michael's shoulder awkwardly. “What were you trying to do? Laundry?”

Michael nodded.

“Let's put this on quick cycle. It should be done by the time I get back from my run. Hey, why don't you come with me? Get out of the house. Feel some sunshine.”

Michael hated running, but he agreed.

Benji was a better running partner than Calum or Luke, both of whom believed running consisted of casual strolls followed by dead sprints for as long as their lungs could sustain them. He didn't try to maintain a conversation, either, and ran at a carefully measured pace that Michael could keep up with.

“Usually I go with Ashton,” Benji said, when they were stopped at a crosswalk. Benji was stretching. Michael was clutching the stitch in his side. “You two run the same.”

“That's…important?”

“No, but maybe you'll come with us the next time tour starts up again.”

Michael tried to imagine running with Ashton and Benji and had a hard time coming up with anything he wanted to do less.

“I hate running,” he said, and groaned when the light changed. “Let me die in peace.”

“Good for you, though. Endorphins.”

“Death waits for me.”

“Death isn't that kind. A nice shower waits for you.”

Michael hated to admit it, but he did feel better after run. Life felt much more manageable with a runner's high humming through his veins and his clothes tumbling around the dryer. The hot shower even felt better than a hot shower usually did.

He called his mum after.

“Of course we're disappointed you didn't come home,” she said, dark moons under her eyes. 9 am in LA was something like 2 am in Sydney. She'd woken up just to talk to him. “But we want you to be happy above all.”

She was sat in the living room, Feddy wiggling about next to her on the couch. Michael's heart ached that he wasn't there.

“It was kind of a panic thing,” he admitted. “I haven't been totally honest, Mum.”

“You're secretly a drug runner,” she said immediately, pixelated by the video connection. “A little _Breaking Bad_.”

“He made the drugs, not transported them, Mum,” he protested. “And um no, it's about my soulmate.”

“It's still not Calum? Joy will be so disappointed.”

“Still not Calum, no.” Michael bit his lip. “Nevermind. Can you tell me again how you met Dad? The first time outside of dreams, I mean.”

His mum looked worried, but she told the story, and Michael relaxed into his seat. At the end of it, he couldn't stop himself from blurting out  “you could come visit, vacation in LA. You have a tourist visa, it wouldn't be hard--”

“Michael--”

“I know it's expensive but I'd pay for your tickets. I can do that now--”

“Oh, Mikey-bee. It's not that.”

Michael frowned, saw his mum looked sympathetic but resolute. “You don't want to come.”

“You know your dad and flying. And we haven't the time to request holidays on such short notice. I'm sorry, Mikey-bee.”

“No, it was--it was stupid.”

“It was a kind thought,” his mum gently corrected. “You miss us. That's normal for a twenty year old away from home.”

“Yeah,” Michael said softly. “I miss you so much.”

“But you're growing up. Most of your things are storage and you didn't even miss them last time you were home.”

“But I miss _you_.”

“Then come home and see us. Face your soulmate, or don't.”

“I...I can't. Not now.”

“Then we'll see you at Christmas. Call your aunt--a cross-country flight is a bit easier than a trans-Pacific one.”

“”M’sorry, Mum.”

“Don't be. Life goes on. When you're happy, I'm happy.”

“Give Dad my love?”

“Of course. He misses you terribly. I caught him showing his co workers your Girls Talk Boys video. Which is a sight better than cornering the postman with your Don't Stop video.”

“ _Seriously_?”

His mum nodded gravely, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And I think between him and Lizzy they've got all the 5sos merch between them. Next time you're home, check the wood shed out back. It's where he hides it when you're home. Mostly so you don't realize how much of it is knock off, but you know. Honestly, he’ll buy anything with your face on it.”

Michael shook his head in disbelief. By the time he hung up he was feeling much better.

Michael texted a few people but it didn't seem like anyone was interested in going out. Fair, Michael supposed, since it was Wednesday.

He settled in on his bed with a thick duvet and a pile of pillows. He plugged in to his laptop and booted a puzzle game he'd bought during the last steam sale but had never had time to play.

This was what a break should be like, he thought; comfortable quiet and time to himself. Michael quickly lost track of time in the quiet click of his mouse and the blur of the game on screen. He blew through hours, hyper focused. When he finally emerged from his trance, it was dark out and his mouth was dry.

He closed his computer and downed three glasses of water in the kitchen. His phone was blinking with notifications.

The first he opened was Instagram. The band account had posted a photo of Ashton, Luke and Calum, all crowded around an ATV. The caption was clearly Luke's doing.

Michael quickly closed the tab. He tweeted back a couple of fans, enthused about his game, and answered a few texts. He drank another glass of water.

Why was Luke on Ashton and Calum's bro getaway?

He tried to put it out of his mind, and trudged off to get some sleep. Ashton must have been awake, because Michael didn't dream.

When he woke up, he had a handful of texts to answer.

Brian and Jess were in LA for a few days, as it turned out, and were perfectly willing to first get day drunk and then to go out to the Nice Guy when it started to get dark.

The rest of their band was in their hometown, which suited Michael fine. Two people were enough to be social, and that number got bumped up when Jess brought her girlfriend.

All three of them bought Michael his drinks since he was technically underage in the states, even if only by a month.

Jess slung an arm around Michael’s waist when they were definitely edging past tipsy and moving solidly into drunk. She whirled him in sloppy circles in the space outside their booth, barely avoiding stomping on his feet with her heavy boots.

“My girlfriend's not my soulmate,” she confided in him, turning to look at her girlfriend mid spin. “But that's okay. Soulmates are _shit_.”

Michael was drunk enough not to be inquisitive, even though it was a little surprising. Michael knew people who dated people other than their soulmates--he himself had been one, and Ashton too--but they were usually teenagers in casual, exploratory relationships, not twenty-somethings entirely serious about each other.

He knew the bare bones of Jess’ situation: a beautiful soulmate who happened to be blonde, British, and a drummer, and who stubbornly refused to believe her soulmate could be female. Jess had been head over heels from the first Dream, according to Brian. Too bad her soulmate wasn't on the same page.

“My soulmate is a piece of shit too,” he said. “ Why are drummers shit?”

Jess glared. “I'm a drummer,” she bitched. “But shots! We should do shots for shitty drummer soulmates.”

\--

Michael woke up on his bedroom floor, clutching a couch pillow. Jess and Brian were both in his bed, snoring. He vaguely remembered Jess’ girlfriend taking a cab home, grouching about family engagements. It explained where she was, and why there were only three of them in Michael’s bedroom this morning.

He had no recollection of why they'd chosen these sleeping arrangements, but his spine was definitely regretting it. He’d probably tried to be the gentleman and insisted Jess and Brian took the bed as guests. Why he hadn’t gone for the couch was another matter entirely, one that sober-Michael was going to need to take up with drunk-Michael next time they got blackout drunk.

His head throbbed. He sat up, regretting the movement as his head spun and his back popped about eight times. Miserably, he slumped into the living room, and crashed out on the couch after fiddling futilely with the coffee maker.

Michael never slept well with a hangover. He knew Ashton was sleeping from the flickers he caught, but he never slept deep enough to actually encounter Ashton.

When he heard the duo in his room start to stir, he got up, giving up on sleeping off his hangover. He took about eight ibuprofen instead, and waged war on the coffeemaker once more.

“I swear to fuckin’ god, if you live by hair of the goddamn dog, m’gonna fuckin' kill you,” Brian said, wandering into the kitchen. His hair stood up in all directions, which was an odd look for him. Michael considered instagraming the sheer gravity defying weirdness of it.

“Coffee count?”

“Only if you put whiskey in it.”

“Damn, only sugar and cream.”

“Heathen,” Brian joked, and sat at the table. “Jesus on a flying donkey, you'd think I'd know not to try to fuckin’ match Jess drink for drink.” He put his head down. “Or Australians. Goddamn.”

“They start us early.”

“Figures. God, my head.”

“You gonna chunder?”

Brian picked his head up to glare at Michael. “What kind of person do you think I am? I'm not _Stephen_.”

“Yeah, Stephen can hold his liquor without stripping,” Jess said, coming into the kitchen. “Oh my god, coffee.”

“If you put bread in it--” Brian began.

“Wimp.”

“I swear, even you don't like coffee with bread in it, you just do it to rub in your mutant ability to avoid hangovers--”

“If you'd remember to hydrate--”

“And eat four orders of chicken nuggets--”

“It was a twenty piece, so really only one order--”

“Fuck _off_ , my head hurts.”

Michael considered the easy, bickering affection between Brian and Jess, and how it was different than affection between his own band. Brian and Jess were clearly close, but not on any kind of soulmate level. They were a sharper, meaner sort of friends, which Michael thought might be even better than soulmates.

Of course, when he tuned back in, that's what Brian and Jess were talking about.

“--just fucks with me when I'm drunk. I Dreamed of twerking Barneys. I swear to god my soulmate waits until I'm drunk to pull this shit. Weirdo.”

“That sounds like a brain stuff dream, not a soulmate one,” Jess said. She made a face at the coffee mugs on the counter and rummaged in the cupboards until she found an honest to god soup bowl.

“Considering the Barney gifs I woke up to and the eighty million winky face emoticons, I'm gonna have to go with my soulmate is a dick,” Brian said drily, then “no, Jess, you can't have all the coffee. Leave some for everyone else.”

“Bite me.”

Michael kind of loved his friends.

Jess filled her soup bowl with coffee, and after a second thought, filled two coffee mugs. “You got sugar around here?”

Michael scratched his head. “Fuck if I know.”

“Do you...not use sugar?”

“Dude, I didn’t know I had coffee until about twenty minutes ago.”

Brian opened a cupboard. “There’s like eight types of cereal here.”

“It’s an Airbnb.” Michael plucked the milk from the fridge. “Accommodations, or whatever.”

Jess snorted, then grabbed the sugar bowl when Brian produced it from the cupboard above the fridge.

“Oh, uh, Mike, I meant to tell you last night: whatever's going on with your soulmate, you can talk to us. Bands can be weird to talk to, and we're like your pop punk fairy godmothers.”

“Alex is going to fight you on that one,” Michael said. His joke fell flat. “Gaskarth, I mean.”

“We all baby you a bit,” Jess said. She slung her arm around Brian. “Baby pop punkers. Poor fashion choices.”

Michael pouted.

He started more coffee after the first pot vanished. Jess made terrible, runny, greasy eggs that were somehow simultaneously the best and worst thing he'd ever eaten, especially with slightly charred toast.

Jess excused herself once to throw up loudly in the bathroom just off the kitchen. She pilfered Michael's mouthwash and gargled loudly enough for Brian to turn faintly green.

Brian helped load the dishwasher while they waited for an Uber to arrive.

“Text me when you're home safe,” Michael said, when they were climbing into the car.

Jess flipped him off, but she was grinning, so there was that.

With everyone gone, Michael stretched out on the couch to watch a movie. His headache was mostly gone now, or he'd gotten used to it. Still, he drifted off, soaking in the sunlight.

As it happened, it must have been nighttime for Ashton, because Michael tumbled into existence onto Ashton's favorite Dream stage in an echoing stadium.

“Been awhile,” Ashton said. He wasn't behind his drum kit, but rather lying out on a beach towel, center stage. He was soaking in warmth the way Michael was in real life.

“Guess we're in different timezones,” Michael said, when he damn well knew that was true. “How've you been?”

“Mm, okay, I guess.” Ashton looked better than okay. He looked tanned and toned, like he'd been climbing mountains shirtless. “I'm on a rafting trip. I have a terrible sunburn.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” Michael quipped. Ashton snorted.

“If you feel like you must, but it's not like I'm sunburnt here. Wouldn't say no if you wanted to sit with me.”

So Michael went.

“Cool tattoo,” Ashton said, running a finger over the lowest band on Michael's arm. “I've never seen it before.”

“Which one?” Michael asked. “I've got six.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Which are you seeing?”

“It's a solid black band.”

“Oh. Okay. I've got one here,” Michael said, moving Ashton's hand to rest on his Final Fantasy tattoo. “Another black band above it. Two small ones on my middle fingers. One on my thumb.”

“I've got three,” Ashton said said quietly. “You can see them, can't you?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, just as quiet. “I saw them when you first got them.”

“Fuck, I wish I could see you better.”

Michael couldn't help himself. “What _do_ you see?”

“You’re...indescribable,” Ashton said. “Literally. I look at your face, and I see a face, and yet...I can’t remember what you look like later, or describe it. Even looking at you now, I can’t say what color your eyes are, or if you have freckles, or anything else.”

“And the rest of me?”

“You’re tall. Warm. Familiar. Like I know you, like I always have. You’re--a feeling I don’t know how to describe.”

Michael had heard Ashton describe potential lovers in songs before, knew his way with words. So hearing Ashton fail now was a compliment unto itself.

“And me?”

“Mm?”

“What do you see when you see me?”

Michael sighed. “I see you,” he said simply. “You’re crystal clear. You have dimples, and the beginning of laugh lines. You’re--I know you,” he said when words failed him.

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Why haven’t we ever talked like this?”

“I think we have. But then again, it’s more fun to do other things. Play Mario.”

“I only Dreamed that once!”

“And COD?”

“I shat my pants, so I’m pretty sure that was all you. And you Dreamed a library once, and made me quiz you on maths. I don’t know anything about maths!”

Ashton flushed. “It was exams and I was stressed!”

“Explain the zombie hordes we’ve been running from in your Dreams, then.”

Ashton grimaced. “I would _really_ rather not.” Ashton leaned against Michael’s shoulder, a soft warmth. “Hey--if you can see my face...have you seen me in the real world?”

“This isn’t real?” Michael joked, but it fell flat. He sighed, then nodded into Ashton’s hair. “Yeah. I’ve seen you.”

Ashton didn’t ask why Michael had never talked to him. He probably assumed Michael was a fan, or had only seen Ashton in a billboard or on a CD cover.

Michael still didn’t know how to say he was in Ashton’s own band, that Ashton knew him in the real world too.

“Do you ever Dream without me?” Ashton asked.

Michael shrugged. “Normal dreams, I suppose. Brain activity. Sometimes I sleep, and I sleep so deeply I don’t dream. Or if I do, I don’t know it.”

“I never dream without you,” Ashton said. “I wonder what that means.”

\--

Michael should have remembered that the entire LA pop punk community were a bunch of gossips, because suddenly his social calendar was a lot fuller than it had been when he arrived.

He went out for a run with Benji--something Benji was very insistent about, either because he genuinely believed that was how to fix Michael’s emotional constipation or because he had decided to put some muscle onto Michael’s frame--and returned to half of State Champs sitting on his doorstep, hellbent on dragging him out to be a tourist. Taylor York swung by with a pack of Hayley’s hair dye, because that was a thing Michael had to deal with now.

It did turn his hair a pretty sweet shade of orange, so there was that.

Feldy sent him some very concerned texts and demanded that Michael show up for a vegan friendly dinner one night. Michael was reasonably certain Jess was behind that, but god alone knew if Jess had somehow been involved. John O’Callaghan popped by out of the blue and dragged Michael to go watch James Bond in theatres, which. Michael hadn’t even been aware there was a James Bond coming out, much less that it would be in theatres or that John O’Callaghan would be such a big fan.

Then, there was the the soulmate talk with literally every single one of them, because the fact that Michael was mopey over his soulmate was apparently the best gossip anyone had had in weeks.

Or maybe it was because Jess had been right and they were just the precious babies of literally every pop punk band to ever exist and they all wanted to threaten whoever was crushing Michael’s heart.

He wondered how they’d react when they found out it was Ashton.

When Rian Dawson showed up, Cassadee Pope in tow, Michael nearly shut the door on them.

“If you’re here to make me talk about my feelings--” he started.

Cassadee lifted the paper bag she was carrying. “I came here to get blind drunk,” she said. “Rian brought pie.”

“Cassadee drinks hundred-eighty proof moonshine,” Rian said, grinning. “Figured you might want a chaser.”

“Pie?”

“Okay, there’s also Pepsi in there, but, you know. You gotta have shoo-fly pie sometime while you’re in the States.”

“I gotta have what now?’

Rian beamed. “Let us in and I’ll show you.”

Shoo-fly pie turned out to be delicious. Cassadee’s moonshine was a nightmare mixed with bleach, and absolutely did not deserve the little cherries she garnished the drinks with.

Rian and Cassadee were an actual fairy tale, Michael was convinced of it. They were soulmates of the Disney princess kind, always about three drinks and a poorly timed question away from singing love songs about each other at any given moment. The Fact that Rian didn't have an army of songbirds and wildlife at his command was probably just a universal fluke.

It was nice to see a pair of soulmates working out so well. Most soulmates had a rough start if the collective angst of the entertainment industry was anything to go by. Rian was content to be Cassadee's damsel, and Cassadee was pleased to be the badass.

Rian took a sip of his drink, which was clear and either water or lighter fluid.

“I'm good at secrets,” he said lightly. “You might have guessed that my band has got a few.”

Michael considered taking the drink from Rian and downing it. “Did Jess send out a bulletin that I'm having soulmate trouble? Because i swear everyone has been trying to get details out of me.”

Rian said “Brian, actually. Besides, anyone who's ever met you can tell you're miserable about something. Have you not listened to your own album?”

“M’not miserable,” Michael complained. “Just… Sad. Annoyed. Fuckin' whatever.”

“Luke sent out a mass text that you were having soulmate issues,” Cassadee admitted. “I don't think he told Ashton, though.”

“So you’ve figured that out too?’

“Not difficult when you realize Ashton’s the only one you don’t sincerely chuck shit at daily--no, don’t give me that look. You joke about dating Luke and you’ve gotten within like two breaths of making out with Calum on stage, you’re as bad as Jack and Alex, but you don’t do that with Ashton. You go all quiet and shy, so either you’ve got a giant non-soulmate crush, or he’s your soulmate.”

“Mix that together with everyone in the business aware of the fact that Ashton can’t see his soulmate and you never talk about yours...well, stuff adds up, don’t it?”

Michael groaned. “When did I get bad about secrets?”

Cassadee refilled Michael’s drink. “Around when you flipped shit and your band started sending worried texts to everyone you could possibly know.”

“Fuck my life.”

Rian laughed. “Just consider how wonderful your friends are, dude. Could be a lot worse than Cassadee and I showing up and making you drink moonshine.”

“Did you brew this yourself in an actual toilet?”

Cassadee sniffed. “Toilets are for rubes. I have an actual still.”

Michael could kind of picture that, actually, which was a little terrifying.

“Anyways, we’ve got the new Good Charlotte album, and Cassadee made a pop punk drinking game. You in?”

So that was how Michael ended up blind drunk on the house’s lawn with Cassadee Pope and Rian Dawson, having one of the most memorable nights of his life. He might have tried to seduce them into a threesome, which was taken as a joke and then cause to tuck him into bed.

As always, Michael Dreamed.

This Dream was different. Michael was sitting on a couch, playing Mario 1-1.

Ashton walked in, looked straight at him and said “hi, Michael.”

Michael jolted awake.

The thing was, he couldn't tell if that was a dream of his own brain's creation, drunkenly wanting Ashton to know so badly that it was ingraining into his subconscious, or if Ashton really did see him now. No matter what, he was rapidly sobering up, with a blinding headache.

He texted Luke: _did you tell?_

No response.

He sat up all night, fiddling with his phone. He waited for a reply, playing mindless and endless levels of Candy Crush.

Still no answer, and not even a peep from the group chat. Michael dozed off, clutching his phone.

He was woken up by the doorbell ringing insistently, over and over. It was disorienting to his exhausted brain.

He stumbled up to go answer it.

Ashton was standing in the doorway. Michael was suddenly very awake.

“Fuck,” Michael said, and shut the door in Ashton’s face.

Ashton opened the door, and Michael shut it. This went on several times until Ashton jammed his foot in.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” he said.

“Watch me,” Michael replied. Then he pushed back against the door, then slacked, letting the door swing open under Ashton’s weight. Ashton tumbled to the ground and Michael bolted for the bathroom.

“Michael, you _shit_!” Ashton shouted. Michael had already locked the door. “Come on. We have to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” Michael tried the window. It was painted shut. “You can leave now.”

“Michael, open the goddamn door.”

“How’d you even find me?”

“Tracked your phone.”

Michael took a moment from considering his escape options to gape at the door. “You didn’t.”

“No,” Ashton agreed. “But Benji and Zoe told me where you were. And Luke told me everything else.”

“Benji, you traitor!” Michael called. He could hear Benji laughing from the kitchen. “Don’t laugh at me, asshole!”

“Michael, come on, open the door.”

“I’m good here.”

“Fine. I’ll go make coffee.”

“Jokes on you. I don’t have coffee in the house.”

“That’s a lie!” Benji called from the kitchen.

Michael tried the window again. “Benji, fuck off!”

Ashton was waiting in the kitchen when Michael emerged.

“Took you long enough.” There were two mugs of coffee on the kitchen bench. One was black, and the other was pale with cream. Michael knew the one with cream was for him, and it would undoubtedly have a ridiculous amount of sugar in them.

“Why are you even here?”

“You ditched us in LAX!”

Michael sighed. “I did do that.”

Ashton pushed the mug of coffee towards Michael. “Come on. You think I could enjoy my vacation without you?”

“...well, yeah.”

“Idiot,” Ashton said, but it was fond. “As if. It was supposed to be a band getaway.”

“I thought it was just going to be you and Calum. Since you guys live together and all.”

“Course not. We picked a place with stuff everyone would like. Wasn't the same without you.”

“You can’t see my face when we Dream,” Michael said, rubbing his hands over his face. “I didn’t think you wanted to know who your soulmate was, much less...well, I thought you’d flip when you learned it was me. So I got the fuck out.”

Ashton sipped from his coffee mug. “So you knew he was going to spill?”

“Didn’t know, but thought he might. You know Luke and secrets. I can't believe he told you.”

“I can't believe you told him before me.”

Michael winced. “It slipped out?”

“That's not the sort of thing that should just _slip out_ ,” Ashton said, ruffling his hands through his hair. It stuck up in all directions, spiky and curly all in one.

Michael took a sip of coffee to avoid needing to speak, and then another, and then drained his mug.

“I was tired,” he said finally.  “And Luke was being an ass. It's not like he knew the whole time, since he told you pretty much as soon as he knew.”

“ _You_ should have told me.”

“And you should have known from the start,” Michael retorted. “And how the fuck would that conversation have gone? Hey, let's get fucking pumped for this show and by the way I've known you were my soulmate for the past five years, sorry I never told you, let's go rock Los Angeles? Maybe I should have said something in one of those nine million interviews asking about our soulmates? Let the world know at the same time you did? What the fuck should I have done, Ashton, when we live and work together? What would you have done, O High and Righteous?”

“I’d have figured something out.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, right. You'd have done the same damn thing I did, except it's all of your brain issues that got us here in the first place!” Michael folded his arms across his chest. “You've never acted like you liked me any way other than as your bandmate. I wasn't going to make you feel obliged to like me because we're soulmates. And guess what? You never looked twice.”

“Just because you didn't see it doesn't mean it didn't happen,” Ashton fired back. “Some of us assumed you were devoted your soulmate, since you never dated like the rest of us.”

“Yeah, and wasn’t that fun, watching you hook up with Bryana.” Michael yawned suddenly, his whole body shaking with the force of it. “The fuck?” he asked, and swayed. “No, fuck you, you _didn’t_.”

Ashton didn’t even look apologetic. “Yeah, well,” he said, and caught Michael as he toppled.

When he Dreamed, Michael was in a living room, lying on a couch. Ashton sat across from him, reading a book.

“You drugged me!” he shouted, sitting bolt upright. “What the _fuck_ , Ashton!”

Ashton closed the book with a snap. “You can’t lie in Dreams, and I didn’t think I was going to get answers any other way. it wouldn't have worked if you weren't already exhausted.”

The furniture in the Dream started whipping around the room with the force of Michael’s rage.

“I’m going to break your fucking neck as soon as I’m done Dreaming here--”

“And you’d be within your rights to,” Ashton said calmly.

Michael deflated. The flying furniture crashed to the ground. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, well. I had to find out from _Luke_ that you’re my soulmate.”

Michael deflated. “Okay. Fine. We’re both assholes.”

“I swear I’ll never do it again,” Ashton said. “On anything you like.”

“I know--I know you won’t.”

Ashton nodded, then stood up and walked outside. Michael paused for a second, then followed.

“Time to have that talk I guess,” Michael said when he caught up. Ashton was sitting poolside, dangling his feet in the pool. Michael sat cross legged next to him.

“You’ll be doing most of the talking.”

“So you’re my soulmate.” Ashton hummed. “And I knew it the first time we met.”

Ashton inhaled sharply. “That was--four years ago.”

“Five,” Michael corrected. “Six? Fuck. Awhile ago.”

“And you said--nothing.”

“DIdn’t know how.”

“Explain to me how it went.”

Michael paused to think.

“I don’t—that’s a really difficult thing to answer.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, just say so,” Ashton said. He should have sounded irritable—god knew Michael always sounded irritable when his bandmates kept things from him—but instead Ashton just sounded tired, like this was just the last in a long line of things Michael would refuse to tell him. “I get it, I did something stupid and you’re mad at me now.”

“Well, yeah, but also no. I did something stupid too.” Michael sighed. “The problem is—most of it was gut instinct and feeling, you know? Like, telling it, that would just sound like I was deliberately keeping it from you, and I wasn’t, not at first. Later—yeah, it was a little on purpose, but I kept dropping hints, and I could never tell if you’d picked up on them or not. I want to tell you, but it’s just that…I don’t know how to make you understand.”

“Well, why not?”

“It was all—feeling. Feeling like this could be my soulmate, and then, well maybe he has a twin, and then well maybe I’m his soulmate and he’s not mine, you know?” Michael rubbed his forehead. “Maybe I can show you? Like a movie? You think the Dream would let that happen?”

Ashton bit his lip. “You can try?”

Michael closed his eyes and concentrated.

A screen rolled across the pool, billowing white. On it, Michael’s memory shimmered; it was their first meeting through Michael’s eyes.

_“Are you Ashton?” Calum’s voice drifted in from Luke’s front door. He’d gone to answer it when the doorbell rang, since Luke had vanished to the bathroom and Michael wasn’t inclined to get up from where he was lying on the floor and picking out some kind of lazy tune on Luke’s acoustic._

_“Yeah,” came a voice that was strangely familiar, even though Michael knew he’d never really heard it before. “That’s me. You’re Calum?”_

_Michael stopped playing._

_“Yeah. Blondie here is Luke, back from his millionth piss of the day--”_

_“Piss off yourself,” Luke grumbled._

_“--and Mikey’s upstairs. Lazy fuck.” There was no bite to Calum’s tone; there never was._

_When Ashton entered Luke’s bedroom, trailing behind Calum and Luke, Michael froze. This was the boy he’d been Dreaming of for a month now, since he’d turned sixteen. This was his soulmate._

_“I’m Michael,” he said, hoping that Ashton would say something, when Michael didn’t know how._

_There was no recognition in Ashton’s eyes at all as he said, “I’m Ashton” and shook Michael’s hand._

_Michael inhaled sharply, feeling like he’d been sucker punched._

Michael reached out now, and touched the screen. It rippled, and a new memory emerged as the old one dissolved.

“Jesus, Mike,” Ashton whispered. His hand had found Michael’s and he interlaced their fingers together, though it seemed he wasn’t fully conscious of doing it.

_They were in Mikey’s granny flat, the one out back that no one actually ever used. Calum had gotten Mali to buy them beer through some form of bribery and favor trading that Michael still didn’t understand, and he was technically part of the system. Mali had only gotten them a six-pack, though, but it was more than nothing. Slightly tipsy, they were getting to know each other as a band, now that their first show was over and done with._

_“Mike’s the only one with soulmate Dreams so far,” Luke said, head in Calum’s lap, since Calum had taken Luke’s favorite spot to sit. “He won’t tell us about them. Dick.”_

_“Fuck off,” Michael said without heat. Here was an opportunity for him to say something, to tell Ashton, or for Ashton to say something. Neither of them did. The moment sailed right by._

_“My Dreams are still new,” Ashton admitted. He had his head tipped back to look at the ceiling, exposing the long line of his throat. “But I don’t think I’ll meet them anytime soon. They’re all blurry to me, and I can’t see their face. Or, well. His face,” he said in a rush._

_Michael exhaled long and low; he’d known Ashton was gay, since he was Dreaming of him himself. But maybe this meant he wasn’t, that Ashton wasn’t really his soulmate. Or was Ashton Michael’s soulmate, when Michael wasn’t Ashton’s?_

_“Maybe they’re like, transgender,” Luke suggested lazily. “The Dreams are your realest self, or whatever. Maybe they don’t know who they are yet.”_

_Michael looked down at himself. He was guy, felt like a guy, was pretty sure of who he was, even if he didn’t like his hair color._

_“No, I don’t--it doesn’t feel like that. I don’t know why it’s going on. My mum wants me to go to a therapist, and my brother thinks I’m soulmates with, like, Superman. Someone with a secret identity. But then again, he’s like, seven, so what does he know?”_

_“Any other sibs?” Michael asked. Maybe Ashton had an identical twin. Or a clone._

_“One sister. You guys?”_

_Michael’s heart sank. He’d spend the next year doubting, wondering, hurting._

_When Ashton got his 5sos tally tattoo, it would appear on Dream-Ashton’s hand, cementing what Michael now knew for certain: Michael and Ashton were soulmates, and Ashton didn’t know it._

“I never Dreamed your tattoos,” Ashton said now, frowning. The screen flickered other memories, times he had started to say and chickened out, or had tried to lead Ashton to the conclusion that the blurry soulmate he Dreamed of was his very real bandmate.

“I thought you would,” Michael confessed. “My Final Fantasy tattoo is pretty...distinctive. When your tally tattoo showed up, I thought--I hoped--I don’t know. Nevermind.”

“Fuck, I’m an asshole,” Ashton said. Michael laid his head on Ashton’s shoulder, and felt Ashton tense underneath his touch. Still, he chose not to move. “I get it now, I guess. I still wish you’d have told me.”

“And said what?” Michael shrugged. “We were building up to this whole…everything, I guess. The band and everything that came with it, you know? Everything we’ve become. I think even then I knew you might freak if I sprung that on you after two months of not saying anything, which was…well, that was when I was first really sure. And then after that—it seemed like it had gone on too long, you know? I was waiting for you to see me in your Dreams and know. I love you, Ash, really I do, I don’t think I ever couldn’t—but back then, the band was everything, and I couldn’t risk it.”

“I’d like to think I wouldn’t have bolted.” Ashton splashed Michael when he snorted in disbelief. “But yeah, you kind of have a point. God, it’s going to be weird reconciling you with the boy I”ve been Dreaming of. You’ve always been two people in my head.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Especially since we’ve got two weeks alone.” Ashton tucked in close to Michael, returning his gentle touches.

Dream time passed differently than normal time, it always had. Michael had no idea how long they talked when Ashton shimmered away into wakefulness.

Michael slept longer than Ashton, probably because the melatonin and ambien Ashton had given him was still in his system. It was a deeply content sleep, though, after they’d talked, and Michael emerged from it thoroughly rested.

When he woke, he could hear Ashton joking in the kitchen with Benji. The sheets next to Michael were rumpled, but cool.

Michael slipped out of bed. He was still in his jeans and shirt; Ashton hadn’t touched him other than to put him in bed.

“So I’m going to murder you and Benji’s going to help me hide the body,” Michael announced, entering the kitchen.

“You’ve said that several times,” Ashton said. While Ashton was completely unconcerned, Benji looked alarmed.

“I don’t think I can let you murder each other.”

“I’m mostly joking,” Michael said, sighing. “Right. Um. We’ve both screwed up, but it’s really a tossup who fucked up more.”

Benji looked between them, clearly torn between wanting to ask and not wanting to know.

“Michael didn’t tell me he was my soulmate for five years. I drugged him so he’d sleep and we could talk.”

Benji’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, that’s--you know what, as long as you two promise not to kill each other, I’m gonna...go have lunch with my brother, okay? You two...just don’t leave the house.”

Once Benji was gone, Michael kind of stared at Ashton awhile. Ashton stared right back.

“Hi,” Ashton said, jumping down from his perch on the counter.

“Hi.”

“So tell me what you’ve been up to here in LA,” Ashton said easily. “Seen Feldy?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen literally everyone else.” Michael paused. “I think Luke sent out a mass text that I was somewhere in LA and people should make me socialize. People have been coming by a lot.”

“Including someone with hair dye? I like the orange, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s good on you.”

“Thought you liked me blond best.”

“I like you all ways,” Ashton said, completely heedless of the way that Michael’s stomach was doing backflips. Of course, Michael’s stomach was also rumbling with hunger, quite loudly. “I like you hungry too, apparently.”

Michael flipped Ashton off. “Shut up, you’ve seen me eat spray cheese from the can.”

“Yeah, I have. Still find you cute, for some reason.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Sap. I think we have leftovers in the fridge somewhere.”

“Uh, spaghetti? With meatballs?”

“…yes?”

“Um, yeah, I ate that about four hours ago.”

“You fuck.”

“I’ll make you more,” Ashton promised.

Neither of them were very capable cooks, but they managed to assemble something edible and even vaguely healthy.

Ashton blew bubbles at Michael after, when they were washing up, and Michael couldn’t help it. He tried to kiss Ashton, as Ashton was handing him a pot to dry.

Of course, with his luck, he only managed to catch Ashton on the cheek.

“Once the dishes are done,” Ashton said, patting Michael on the cheek with a damp, soapy hand.

Michael whined. Ashton just grinned and washed another pot.

When the last was put away, Michael pouted at Ashton, as much as he could.

“Now?”

Ashton smiled, and nodded.

Michael bit his lip, then ducked forward to kiss Ashton.

Movies always portrayed first kisses between soulmates as being beyond magical, like fireworks and champagne and the kind of bright, burning passion the world would be desolate without.

This kiss was none of those things. This kiss was Ashton's hand cupping the back of Michael's neck to drag him closer, kiss him deeper. This kiss was Michael's fingers looping into Ashton's front pockets so their hips aligned and they pressed even closer to each other. This kiss was coming home and learning to fly all at once, so maybe the movies were a little bit right.

Ashton kept taking kiss after kiss, gently backing Michael towards a wall and only separating long enough to steal breaths. He pinned Michael's wrists above his head angled his hip so he was pressed up against Michael with sweet, firm pressure. Ashton kissed like Michael was going to dissolve under his touch, and he had to take what he could while he could.

Michael wasn't really intending to go anywhere, especially not when Ashton dipped his head down to bite delicate pinkish red hickies onto Michael's throat.

“Asshole,” Michael managed when he realized how big the marks were going to be and how much they'd ache tomorrow. Ashton just set his teeth at Michael's collarbone and bit hard enough that Michael's knees buckled.

His weight dropped him down hard against Ashton's hip, and he bucked at the friction, whining.

“Oh, you like it a little rough, hm?” Ashton asked, barely holding in an amused laugh. “Note to self, then.”

“Fuck you,” Michael retorted, but he was still pushing into Ashton’s touch. He ground jerkily against Ashton, chasing lovely friction.

“Greedy,” teased Ashton. His voice was breathless and rough, an octave down from where he usually spoke. “We’ve only just kissed for the first time.”

“ _Dick_.”

“Thought that was what you wanted from me? A dick in you?”

Michael moaned a little, struggled a little more, but Ashton was bulkier than Michael and not interested in moving. When Michael eased back against the wall, softened into Ashton’s grip, Ashton let go and skimmed his hands down Michael’s sides.

Michael kept his hands up, because he could really think straight enough to improvise another course of action. Ashton’s fingers slipped underneath Michael’s shirt, pushing it up and over his head, then dropped down to push away Michael’s pyjama pants in a smooth movement.

The imbalance of nakedness seemed wildly unfair to Michael, so he tugged at Ashton’s shirt collar until Ashton caught the hint. Laughing, he stripped the shirt over his head.

Michael tucked his fingers into Ashton’s belt loops and tugged him down the hallway to his bedroom. Ashton managed to divest Michael of his boxers in what felt like a spinning blur.

Ashton was just like Michael’d always secretly thought he’d be like in bed. He was tightly wound, firmly in control, and completely enamoured by Michael squirminess and ticklishness.

“Get on with it,” Michael hissed, shy and brash all in one. “Come on.”

Ashton nipped at the thin skin at Michael’s wrist. “Patience.”

“I’ve been way too fucking--ungh--fucking patient with you already.”

Ashton seemed intent on finding all of Michael's ticklish spots, every place that made him yelp or moan.

His tongue rasped over Michael's inner thigh, incredibly close to where Michael wanted it and refused to ask for.

Ashton seemed to be on the same wavelength, feeling Michael's hesitancy and clearly wanting it gone between them.

“Ask for it,” he crooned, leaving teeth imprints in Michael's thigh. “No secrets with us anymore. Ask and I'll give it.”

“Your mouth,” Michael managed, flushing all over, and there was really no hiding it with Ashton pinning his hips down, keeping Michael on display for him. “Want your mouth.”

“Mm, was hoping you'd ask for that. You want my mouth here?” Ashton asked, the pads of his fingers sliding delicately over Michael’s cock. “Or lower?”

The strangled noise that came out of Michael's mouth was decidedly not a word. Ashton chuckled and dipped his head to eat Michael out.

Michael stared, a little stunned, at the bird tattoo spanning the back of Ashton's nec. It was jarringly dark against Ashton’s skin, and Michael couldn’t help but touch there, skimming the tattoo and Ashton’s hairline.

There was a franticness to Ashton's movements, like he couldn't believe he had Michael. Michael wondered if Ashton had been as scared of being alone as Michael had been. Then Ashton was sliding a single finger into Michael, intense and beautiful, and Michael's brain shut off a little.

“Here's the thing,” Ashton said conversationally, looking up at Michael from between Michael's legs. Michael's thighs were dotted with blooming love bites, bruises that would sing between his legs for weeks.

“Mrgh,” Michael managed.

“No more secrets,” Ashton said. “You tell me things. I tell you things. You're my soulmate and I'm yours. Don't make me wonder for years, yeah?”

Michael could barely think, especially when Ashton tucked in a second finger.

“Make sure you see me then,” he retorted breathlessly. His eyes fluttered shut as Ashton twisted his wrist and bit Michael's thigh all at once.

“Don't think that'll be a problem from here on out.” Ashton's voice was tinged with wonder. “My Michael. My handsome asshole of a soulmate. You think I'm ever going to let you go? Not when I've seen you like this, crying for me, because I'm the only one you'll let see you like this. Not when I've seen your _fucking_ soul, Michael. I might not have seen your face, but you're fucking honest when you Dream and you're always going to Dream for me, aren't you, my Mikey?”

Michael sobbed and came. He stared at the ceiling, heaving deep breaths in. The bed bounced next to him as Ashton got up.

“Where are you going?” Michael asked.

“To get lube?” Ashton suggested. “Though I guess I shouldn’t presume--do you--”

“Ashton, get the lube, and fuck me.”

Ashton, for all the filthy talk he’d been throwing at Michael, turned about four shades of red and darted for the front door, shirtless and with his jeans unbuttoned.

He came back hauling his suitcase, and then spent about three minutes digging through the bag while Michael laughed at him.

Eventually Ashton found what he was looking for and chucked his toiletry kit at Michael, who caught it with his face and fell backwards on the bed.

Ashton panicked for about five seconds, until he realized the wheezing coming from Michael wasn’t sobs of pain but rather choked laughter.

“You’re an asshole,” he said, and picked up his toiletry case. Michael kept hiccuping laughter, until Ashton produced a condom and a little shiny sachet of lube. Even then he was kind of sniggering.

“And you’re a dick, let’s get this show on the road.”

When Ashton still hesitated, Michael tried to grab the two foil packets from him. Unsuccessfully, since Ashton pulled them out of reach and Michael nearly overbalanced off the bed.

Somehow they ended up with Michael on his back again, and Ashton kneeling between Michael’s legs.

“Are you sure?” Ashton asked again.

Michael rolled his eyes. “If you don’t fuck me--”

Ashton huffed out a laugh. “Fine, fine.”

It took two tries, but then Ashton was sliding deep, and Michael was opening, like Ashton was pressing into his very soul. Michael pulled at Ashton’s shoulders, trying to bring him closer.

Ashton’s shoulders were marked with faint acne scars. While Michael had a pimply face as a teenager, Ashton had carried it across his upper back. The skin there was textured, dotted with the shiny slickness of scar tissue.

“You gonna fuck me, or just stay still for all of ever?” Michael demanded, when Ashton didn’t seem like he was going to move any time soon.

Ashton huffed out a laugh. “And here I thought you’d sass less with a cock in you.”

“Absolutely n--ohh.”

“See, that shut you up.”

“Dick.”

“Coincidentally, mine is in you.”

“You are the actual _worst--oh my god_ ,” Michael choked as Ashton rolled his hips.

Ashton was good at drawing out every expression of pleasure from Michael. They were compatible in all ways, every way, and it was intimately clear as Ashton fucked into Michael time and time again.

Ashton came before Michael, shuddering and sighing into the crook of Michael’s neck. He slid his fingers deep to help Michael tumble over the edge a second time, whispering encouragements the whole time.

After, Ashton was smug. “We could have done that years ago.”

“You’d have let me?”

“Mike. It was never you that made your face blurry to me. It was all my hang-ups.”

Michael didn’t say anything.

Ashton sighed. “Look. I looked up a lot of dream psych stuff when I first started Dreaming about you and couldn’t see your face.”

“And?”

“A lot of it is bullshit. No one knows anything about Dreams, not really. It’s hard to have a universal application to something that much in flux.”

“But?” Michael asked, knowing Ashton wouldn’t have brought it up without reason.

“But...some of it is really on the head. And...well, basically I couldn’t see you because...well, I didn’t think I deserved to. Or because I didn’t want to. My mum’s soulmates have been...pieces of shit, basically. And dream psych suggests that because my dad was a piece of shit, and since Lauren and Harry’s dad was a piece of shit, that I thought I didn’t want a soulmate for fear of them being that shitty. That somehow I started to believe my mum deserved shitty soulmates, and that I was going to get a shitty one too because I deserved it.”

“You don’t--”

“I definitely don’t believe that. My mum is the best. But...there’s subconscious stuff that pops up, and...well. You’ve seen what the subconscious can do to make you miserable.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“We’re not gonna start acting married, are we?” Michael quipped to break the tension.

It worked. Ashton sniggered.

“Figure we’d have to marry Luke and Calum too. Til band do us part.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It totally does,” Ashton argued. “And anyways, we’re soulmates. Who needs marriage?”

“Calum. He’ll cry if he’s not my best man. Pretty sure he’s got a speech written already. Embarrassing as all hell.”

“For him or for you?”

“For everyone,” Michael said grimly. “I’ve been friends with him for like, eighteen years. He knows everything.”

“You have not known him for eighteen years.”

“Sixteen, I think. So close enough.”

“Jesus. That’s gonna be a hell of a speech. I should get you a ring soon, then, so I get to hear it?”

Michael laughed. “Two things: it better have a big, shiny rock, and you’re gonna woo me first.”

“Woo?”

“Fuck off.”

“Woo?”

“I can kick you out of this bed, you know.”

“Woo? Jesus, are you ninety? Woo?”

“I think the sex we just had very much proved I am not ninety.”

“Yeah?” Ashton leered and rolled over so he was on top of Michael. “Wanna prove that and go again?”

“Jesus, yes, but also no. My dick’s gonna fall off.”

\--

“So is this band meeting about how you’ve finally gotten your heads out of your asses and into each other’s?”

“First of all, ew. Second of all—” Michael looked at Ashton, who was studying the keyboard intensely. “What’s it to you?”

“Fuck me, you’ve actually figured it out,” Calum said, in his own little skype window. It looked like he was in his backyard, tanning in the sunshine. “Maybe Michael can stop being such a miserable fuck.”

“Suck my--”

Ashton put his hand over Michael’s mouth. Michael sulked.

“Don’t have to,” Calum said smugly. “God, maybe now my mum will stop hounding me about if you’re my soulmate, Mike.”

“Still no Dreams?” Ashton asked, dropping his hand.

“Fuck no, and hopefully they’ll never show up. Unless my soulmate is ace as hell, like me.”

“You’ll find them.” Michael tipped his head onto Ashton’s shoulder. “I found mine.”

“Dunno if I want to,” Calum replied. “My other option is living with one of you deadbeats and becoming the cool uncle. I bet I could live off of Luke’s beer stash for like, three months before he notices.”

“Fuck no, you couldn’t—“

Michael leaned back and appreciated the bickering conversation between Calum and Luke.

“Hello detour,” Ashton chipped in calmly, when the bickering was escalating into actual arguing.

“Right,” Luke chirped. “The head in arses situation.”

Michael shrugged. “We figured it out.”

“Well no shit.” Luke leaned forward towards his camera. “Who tops?”

“ _Luke!_ ”

“What? Cal and I have a bet going, and I could win a hundred dollars!”

“You bet a hundred dollars on us?” Ashton asked incredulously. “Can you say _invasion of privacy_ , Luke?”

“Invasion of privacy,” Luke parroted. “Come on, seriously. I’ve lost the last two bets to Cal.”

“ _Calum_.”

“Look, Alex bet $100 that you were banging, but not soulmates, and I’m pretty sure I’ve won that one.”

“Which Alex?”

“Well, both of them, honestly. DeLeon was betting that you were friends with benefits. Gaskarth was the one with the dating but not soulmates bet.”

“So, who tops?”

Ashton sniffed. “That’s for us to know and you to not.”

“We’ll find out eventually.”

“And the image will be scarred into your mind permanently when you do.”

Luke and Calum only grumbled a little, so Michael braced himself for an invasion into his bedroom at some point.

“So how’s this going to work?” Luke asked, once the grumbling died down.

“Ash and I start sharing, so get used to Calum’s snoring,” Michael quipped.

Luke shook his head. “I meant are you gonna tell the fans?”

Michael looked up at Ashton. “Morality clause, right?”

“No, there’s a soulmates exemption,” Ashton said. “Pretty sure, at least.”

“Why do you know that off the top of your head?”

Ashton shrugged languidly, shaking Michael a little bit. “Well, it’s industry standard, innit? Cruel and unusual punishment by the Geneva convention to separate someone from their soulmate without the soulmate’s explicit request.”

“Oh my god, _nerd_. My soulmate’s a _nerd_.”

Calum chipped in. “I can’t believe you know that but not that tadpoles are frogs.”

“I know that now!”

“ _Nerd_ ,” Michael moaned, until Ashton shut him up with a kiss.

There was silence on the video chat.

“Wow,” Calum said.

“Encore!” Luke’s grin was wide and shit-eating. “Christ, you’d think you two were married for years, and not only together for like, 24 hours.”

“Soulmates,” Ashton reiterated. “Anyways—I think we’re just gonna let it be, you know? Not deny it, but not come out with banners and flags and stuff. People already think we’re all fucking each other, might as well let them be right this once.”

 

**Six Months Later**

 

ROCKsound ONLINE > Interviews > Music > _5 Seconds of Summer_

 

Pop punk stars 5 Seconds of Summer talk leaked singles and soulmate revelations in this exclusive interview with ROCKsound ONLINE.

By Bridget Masson  
22 March 2018

 **5 Seconds of Summer** are a global phenomenon. Their first, second, and third albums all topped the charts within weeks of their release; their self-titled debut album was  certified multi-platinum this week, following the news that their second album gained platinum the month before. It’s not difficult to understand why their music is so popular when their talent and skill shines through with each carefully crafted song. It doesn’t hurt, of course, that all four band members are heartthrobs.

 **ROCKsound** : There have been a lot of rumors going around after the leak of your most recent single.

 **Michael CLIFFORD** grimaces. The other three members of his band have similar expressions.

 **Clifford** : It’s a demo, not a single. We aren’t even sure if it’ll make the cut for the album. It’s really rough, and I’m pretty sure we recorded it in a bathroom while Luke was peeing.

 **Luke HEMMINGS** : That was Castaway. Calum was peeing in this one.

 **ROCKsound** : People seem pretty hyped about it.

 **Clifford** : People were hyped when we sang last night to stall when Ashton broke his drum kit. Again.

 **Irwin** : Look, I was rocking out. Not my fault you don’t go as hard as I do.

Clifford’s expression is half-rueful, half-proud. **Ashton IRWIN** has his head resting on Clifford’s shoulder, nodding along. Across the table from them, Hemmings and **Calum HOOD** are yawning and stirring sugar into their coffees; today, 5 Seconds of Summer embark on a short three-week tour promoting their latest single. It’s six AM in the hotel restaurant, and we’re the only ones there.

5 Seconds of Summer seem equal parts exasperated and excited that a leaked demo has caught so much attention: exasperated, because an unfinished demo is catching the world’s attention, and excited that one of their songs is being so well received.

The early morning is both dulling and exacerbating existing moods. Following Irwin’s declaration, Clifford pats his bandmate’s face and leaves his hand there. It devolves into a quiet bicker, with all four of them taking sides in what seems like a perpetual yet friendly disagreement. It takes nearly five minutes for us to return to the topic at hand, partially because the only waitress on duty brings up the courage to ask them for selfies and autographs.

Once we sit back down, plates of toast and jam have appeared on the table.

 **ROCKsound** : So the song’s called Soulprint, is it?

 **Irwin** : That’s what it’s registered under, yeah.

 **ROCKsound** : And it’s—Michael [Clifford] and Ashton [Irwin] who have the writing credits for it.

 **Clifford** : Hey, Ashton, it’s almost like we’re in a band together and write songs together. Like _She’s Kinda Hot_. We wrote that together.

 **Irwin** : (who is smiling indulgently) Michael, your hand is still on my face.

 **Clifford** : I know where my hand is.

 **Hood** : I bet you do.

 **ROCKsound** : So there’s speculation that you two wrote _Soulprint_ because you two _are_ soulmates.

 **Clifford** : The dating rumors have never been new. The soulmate one, that’s a rumor further afield.

 **Irwin** : Shipping, man.

 **Hood** : No one takes them seriously.

For those not in the know, shipping is where fans fantasize about band members being together in romantic or sexual relationships. In some cases, fans write about discovering that they are soulmates with the band. More common in recent years has been speculation that one or more of the band dreams of a fellow band mate, judging by their closer than usual friendships.

These rumors aren’t entirely baseless. For a group of teenage heartthrobs, they have had relatively few dating scandals. In 2014, Hood was caught up in a nude photo scandal; in 2015, Irwin struggled with backlash against his then-girlfriend, Bryana Holly. Since then, all four members have remained publicly single, despite rampant fan speculation about relationships with Harry Styles, Brian Logan Dales, Halsey, and Angel Haze, to name a few.

 **ROCKsound** : But are the rumors true?

Clifford and Irwin are exchanging glances, while Hood seems to have completely clammed up as Hemmings leans over and looks at my notes at this point.

 **Hemmings** : That’s not an annoyed look, that’s Ashton’s _I’m gonna do something stupid_ expression.

 **ROCKsound** : Sorry?

 **Hemmings** : You’ve got Ash’s expression down as annoyed. He’s gonna do something stupid, not annoyed.

 **Irwin** : I take offense!

 **Hood** : Is he wrong?

 **Irwin** : F*** you guys!

After a second round of bickering that somehow results in Clifford sitting in Irwin’s lap, Hemmings drawing on the tablecloth, and Hood staring into the depths of coffee cup like it holds the secrets to the universe (or just perhaps really hoping for a refill), Clifford takes up where we left off.

 **ROCKsound** : So is it true?

 **Irwin** : Well, obviously. Surprise?

It’s not an answer I was expecting, though the band seems completely at ease with the response. Hood and Hemmings barely blink

 **ROCKsound** : So you’re together?

 **Irwin** : That’s generally what happens with soulmates, yes. Michael, your knee is in my spleen.

 **Clifford** : It is not.

 **Hood** : You’re gonna have the worst coming-out story ever.

 **Clifford** : How many s**** do you see me giving?

 **ROCKsound** : You’re soulmates? Why keep it secret for so long?

Irwin grimaces.

 **Irwin** : That’s on me. The course of true love never did love smooth, or whatever.

 **Hemmings:** Run smooth.

 **Irwin** : Whatever.

 **ROCKsound** : Care to elaborate?

 **Clifford** : No. That’s--that’s personal.

Irwin elbows him sharply. Hood and Hemmings are politely focusing on their breakfasts, despite the fact that Hemming’s plate is empty , as is Hood’s coffee cup.

 **Clifford** : Okay. We had a complicated beginning. You know how sometimes people have trouble seeing their soulmates in Dreams, because of emotional hangups, or leftover trauma, or just because--well, the universe thinks it should be that way?

 **ROCKsound** : Like in Taming of the Shrew?

 **Irwin** : If you think Michael has willingly read that--

 **Clifford** : F*** off, Ash. Yeah, a little bit, I guess. Confusion and mixups and all of that. It didn’t exactly start out well, because I was sixteen when I met Ashton for the first time, and I--yeah, I had no idea how to tell him? Especially when he didn’t recognize me.

 **Irwin** : I’m the one with the hangups here. It took us awhile to sort things out. Anything beyond that, we’re going to keep private. We're soulmates, which is what matters. When we got together, or how, and the littler details of our relationship, that’s for us.

Find the rest of this interview in this week’s print issue of ROCKsound.

In the meantime, pick up a copy of 5 Seconds of Summer’s first three albums from iTunes, and take a listen to the leaked demo of _Soulprints_.

You won’t regret it.

\--

 _I better be well prepared_  
To change the way that I believe  
This story’s old but not complete  
I need that off-track set mind where everything is fine  
If I’m ever gonna meet you on the other side

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on tumblr at satellitesandfallingstars!


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